How Many Socialites
by rrhymes
Summary: When lives are intertwined through a book report, Dean Winchester is left wondering. Just how many socialites can dance on the head of a pin? Dean/Castiel High School AU
1. Prologue: A Bad Way to Start the Day

Prologue: A bad way to start the day.

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_When lives are intertwined through a book report, Dean Winchester is left wondering, just how many socialites can dance on the head of a pin? Dean/Castiel High School AU_

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There were many things that made Dean Winchester want to commit genocide but the piercing sound of his alarm clock gracefully took the cake.

Sharp ringing echoed loudly throughout the room leaving the two Winchester brothers singing a symphony of curse words, and contrary to turning off the should-be-illegal contraption, they both instead opted to further envelope themselves in their blankets.

They were cold. They were tired. A moment of mutual fuck-that passed.

That is until, from his makeshift cocoon, the younger uttered a string of groggily slurred words along the lines of 'shut-off-that-fucking-alarm-or-I-will-throttle-the-closest-living-breathing-object.'

Dean wouldn't have been able to sympathize more, save for the fact that they were the closest living, breathing objects to each other, respectively.

He reached out from the sweet warm confines of his bed and slammed it off.

Dean Winchester hated mornings, Tuesdays especially. They were long and tedious, and he had to deal with costumers at Ellen's bustling little breakfast diner first thing.

Ellen was a great woman; it was the _people_ Dean couldn't stand. They wanted to make talk, and Dean hated when people told him about their problems, or asked him to talk about his problems to them. He never knew what to say.

'I ain't really all that interesting' he'd mumble with a fake smile.

_He didn't tell them about how his parents had been involved in numerous conspiracies and trafficking groups, how they were killed because of it. He didn't tell them about how he had to balance two jobs and school on top of saving coins to send Sam to university_.

Dean and Sam Winchester appeared on auto-mechanic/landlord Bobby's doorstep one July afternoon, three years ago. They've stayed ever since.

The community pried, Dean shrugged them off. There was a certain amount of privacy the older Winchester desired and that was hard to gain in their small, small town

To foretell: he had work in an hour, Sam had school in two, and after work Dean would spend the rest of the day at school, trying to muster up all the credits he needed to graduate. The situation in turn required him to haul his ass out of bed at 5:30 am. He sighed sleepily, before leaving the heavy palace of his blankets and heading for the shower on principal.

Which would be cold, like the entire fucking apartment.

Now Bobby Singer, the landlord, spoiled the Winchesters rotten, so if there was one thing Dean was thankful for, it was for that. He was an elder man, but if you said that to his face he'd sock you in the eye. No kids, and Dean supposed that was why he treated them like they were his own. He always made sure that Dean and his brother, Sam, had enough to eat and he drove the brat to school during the week.

He was grumpy, kind, and unexpectedly intelligent.

The list of things Bobby had done to help them was longer and more sacred, to Dean, than the bible.

He knew Bobby charged them half as much as he ought to for rent.

"Dammit boy, you pay enough" He'd say, waving off Dean's attempts to repay him.

Bobby Singer was the closest thing to a father Dean and Sam had.

But, since he was on some 3-month fishing trip, Alastair the caretaker had taken it upon himself to make Dean's life a living hell.

There were many things that made dean Winchester want to commit genocide but Alastair's smug grin teetered dangerously close to the top of the list. A few examples of his torturous tactics were:

-Turning off their power at random

-Turning off their heating at random

-Turning off their hot water, guess what? At random.

All which contained a common denominator, mind you, and that was that they were very currently taking effect.

He would smile sweetly at the brothers in the corridors, which made him all the creepier.

Dean made it his best effort to keep Alistair off his mind. He dismissed any thoughts of him in fear that he would turn sour out of frustration.

It was not a good way to start the day.

Dean squinted tiredly at himself through his bathroom mirror.

He was average, really.

Tall-ish

Handsome-ish

His brown hair stuck out short over a square-ish face. His eyes were green, with lashes that were longer than he'd like to admit. He had a crooked smile that graced his features less than often, and his poster was lazier that it needed to be.

Dean Winchester was sarcastic, snarky, and fit from working weekends at bobby's auto shop.

Though Sam was the appointed family geek, Dean could quote entire scenes for Star Trek, Guns and Roses, and Doctor Who (the 1960's one, of course). He also held a not so secret appreciation for 80's rock music and pie.

Sam, all limbs and lengthy brown hair, with a brain that was too big for his head and shoes that were too small for his feet, was going to be late for school.

_'Who the fuck even goes fishing in the winter'_ Dean murmured bitterly before taking a deep breath, and stepping into the prickly cold water.

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I'm no good at writing, really. I would, however, love to improve. Responses are more than welcome!


	2. Chapter 1: Irony Unheard Of

At 8:00 in the morning the day had officially gone to shit.

There were two prominent thoughts going through Dean's mind as he speeded down the highway, pulling something like 150 mph.

He was late.

He was really fucking late.

Mr. Crowley wasn't exactly generous when it came to late slips. He regarded student's the same way a king regarded his minions, and that was the generous simile.

'You're stupid until you prove yourself otherwise' he told them casually, and kept to the saying. Only when a student made an outstanding discussion, or the like, would he ever pay them any sorts of notice. Dean wasn't sure if he liked or disliked the science-oriented professor. He was strict, blunt, and rather a bully. There were times when he almost seemed sassy, and he never failed to be sarcastic. Nonetheless, Dean respected him- in a way, and Mr. Crowley showed just as much in return.

It was similar to the way a cat respected an owl. Even with the knowledge that he could, at any time, claw its eyes out, it was a sort of careful appreciation.

Being late would not give Dean a gold star.

He grasped the steering wheel with such intensity that his knuckles turned white, and kept them like that until he arrived at the High School parking lot. Grabbing his bag, Dean unbuckled his seat belt and dashed into the building. He turned fervently into the elevator and jabbed the '2' button with his thumb. Any signs of the professor were not evident as he reached room 208, which made him one hell of a lucky duckling. He took a seat, fished for a pencil, and opened his textbook.

It was a work period.

He was saved.

_It happened at second period._

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The fact that a class could be so mind-bogglingly boring was consistently astonishing to Dean Winchester. Second period English with Mr. Campbell was the class he most dreaded.

Dean would not be present if he didn't need the final credit to graduate.

Unfortunately, Dean needed the final credit to graduate

He was not staying in Lawrence County. He hated the dim old place with burning passion. Its dank weather, the lack of activity, and the fact that nobody could keep their nose up there own ass teetered dangerously close to the top of Dean's 'what I hate about Lawrence' list.

His degree, it was freedom. He was going to go to the city, going to see the world, do something, to make it better… to help people, he supposed. But for now he was stuck in second period English with Mr. Campbell, listening to the bleak, monotone drawl of a lecture.

_"What a son of a bitch"_ He hissed over to Anna. A joke, but she shot him a venomous glare nonetheless. Her fiery red hair tumbled around as she turned her attention back to whatever fascinating information their professor was excreting.

Dean liked Anna's hair. It felt nice and was a neat colour, and was closely all he found interesting about her. She had an appealing attitude, and was pretty, but otherwise bleak. She didn't get any of his jokes, and didn't like his music, and he kind of got the feeling that she wasn't really all that into him. Which was ok with him, because he wasn't really all that into her either. They had a mutually friendly relationship that quite simply existed to humor their fellow comrades. At least the sex was good.

But now she was focused intently on the teacher and jabbed Dean sharply in the side, signaling him to do the same. He whined but compiled, letting the sad words register in his brain. They were receiving the guidelines for a project he discovered with great distain. Projects usually meant some sort of work.

Dean was quite intelligent, but only when provoked. He could hold a good debate for hours and tell you the most efficient way to get to anywhere in the country. Not to mention he was acing the advanced sciences and history. But as the class in question failed to catch his attention, he fell far from interest and into the crevices of negative motivation.

"This project will take up a significant part of the semester. I encourage you to work on it on your own time. I will assign you a book, and the project is simple- write a sequel of it to your own liking. "

A creative writing assignment. Anything that involved the tedious task of creating literature was not dean's strong point. Give him a hunk of discarded paint and metal and from it he'd make a glimmering model of sublime beauty. A car of royalty proportions, godly proportions, to glide over the tarmac boardwalk. The aspiring mechanical engineer could sing a song and woo a woman with ease. He could not pen one.

"You will be working in groups of two,"

Perfect. Anna liked doing projects her own way anyways. So he needn't worry about having to put to much effort into-

"Which I will assign."

_Oh_

Well that was fuckall fantastic.

He held a glimmer of hope, though. Maybe, somehow, he would get partnered up with some reminiscent of a friend. Unlikely, because he was sure Mr. Campbell hated his guts passionately, but still a chance remained.

He waited with baited breath.

'Meg and Adam'

Adam was a close friend of Deans. Meg was not. She was a stealing, cheating, lying deviant, but hell if she wasn't sexy. Dean had seen her more than once at the back of the classroom with her hand tucked down some boy's pants. Or girl's.

Dean saluted Adam solemnly from across the room whispering 'rest in peace, man' louder than necessary with disdain in his voice. Meg smiled brilliantly and told dean to go fuck himself.

'Lisa and Bela'

Interesting. Dean's best friend (previously girlfriend) collaborating with his psychotic enemy-with-benefits (previously girlfriend) would definitely raise some diabolical conversation topics.

'Anna and Garth'

Well there went his hopes of a project well done…

'Lilith and Ben'

The Professor went on listing names until he reached the very bottom of the list, and Dean knew who his partner was before the teacher uttered a syllable.

He was the youngest of the Novak family. One of four siblings.

The Novaks were closely related to the Miltons- Anna's family. Being Anna's designated arm candy was becoming a recurring duty; particularly when it came to her snobby, expensive family gatherings that they held far to often. He played the part well, but overheard his fair share of gossip on the way. The Novaks were a twisted spider web of family affairs, wealth, and betrayal. They stood high and mighty with halos around their heads, but it was no secret that their thrones were built on broken knees and gunpowder. Under the cover of successful law firms and influential politicians were liars, fiends, and miscreants.

'Dean and Castiel'

The teachers tiptoed around the Novak siblings with care, and let them do as they please in fear of provoking them. They were all alike in a sense- conceited, snarky, and absolutely brilliant. Dean could count the number of times Castiel had been to class on his fingers, yet still he managed to remain top of his year. He was in 11th grade but took all advanced academic grade 12 courses. Everyone seemed to accept the fact that he only came to school for tests and projects, and his name stopped being marked on the attendance since week 2. How he knew when the summative assignments would be given was a mystery.

He sat at the back of the room.

He was written in wealth, every gesture, every expression, his name was money and all knew, all could see. There were a plunder of girls after him but he remained obsolete. Either he was painfully oblivious or he just didn't care.

The Novaks were striking. None of them looked quite similar to another but they all shared a certain air about themselves.

Sharp features, tall; not in height, but in authority, and bright eyes.

Castiel was no exception.

They crossed gazes for a moment.

There was no emotion to the interaction. Just a simple passing and they were back to their own devices, yet Dean couldn't help but feel embarrassed as he averted his eyes back to his desk. His face felt hot against his palm.

It occurred to dean that he knew next to nothing about his new partner. They'd never crossed paths, save for once or twice, and it was strange to think they'd be spending the better part of the rest of the year sharing a project of 40% importance. It was a life or death situation for Dean, but probably no more than Sunday dinner for Castiel.

Who needed good grades when Harvard was paying _them_ to attend? Universities fought over the Novak children, if the rumors had anything to say about it.

He stole another glance as the break bell rang.

Castiel was standing, walking as he scrawled something onto a sheet of paper. Dean only came to when the parchment was displayed before him.

He blinked intelligently, Castiel quirked an eyebrow. The younger boy shouldn't have been as physically intimidating as he was, standing about a foot shorter than dean and with a considerably slighter build. His eyes were cold and blue and steady, and dean fidgeted before them. They were standing rather close together in the otherwise empty room.

After a dumb pause, realization took over and dean quickly took the paper.

It read in impossibly smooth script:

_**Library 02**_

_**Table 108**_

_**3:45**_

_**Any earlier and I will be there. Any later I will not.**_

_**See you.**_

Dean looked up but only the absent classroom met him. Castiel was gone.

He felt like he should be angry about being simply handed instructions and further ignored, but he wasn't. He was confused, slightly annoyed, and possibly curious; all very mild emotions for the wreck that was Dean Winchester.

He didn't know what he was feeling.

There were only three things he knew for certain.

One, the project could either go very well, or supremely terrible.

Two, he wasn't yet sure if his appointed accomplice was just socially awkward, or a pretentious dick.

And three, a good chunk of the semester would be spent doing an English assignment with a rich, smart, and brilliantly defiant student who was, in fact, deaf.

And he wasn't sure how he was going to deal with any of them.

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_In case ya'll didn't get that, Castiel is indeed deaf- or mostly deaf. Stay tuned for the next chapter!_

_Critique is always welcome and appreciated._


End file.
